The First Quarter Quell :: Saving Each Other
by DelilahNoel
Summary: With her lack of special talent, Ophelia Flynn has little hope for winning the 25th Hunger Games. That's until her charming mentor, Cal Vickory, hatches the perfect plan. To urge the Capitol into falling in love with Ophelia and keeping her alive with sponsorships, Cal and Ophelia are going to give them what they want - the love story between a mentor and the tribute he must save.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : I hope you like this new story idea of mine! Since this is fanfiction, I will try to keep it fast-paced. I'd love some feedback, especially this early on. I'm all about taking requests when it comes to certain plot twists and scenes. If I can give you a review in exchange of a review, let me know!

 ** _Chapter One: The Reaping_**

Ophelia Flynn was not a girl that people talked about within the district. She was not the "brave one", the "generous one", nor the "pretty one". In fact, most people had no idea who she was. That was due to her older brother's extreme sense of protectiveness. Every since their parents succumbed to the inevitable morphling addiction that was so common in the district, her brother, Isaac, took it upon himself to be the main source of income for the family. Ophelia would have loved to help – She had just turned eighteen, for goodness sake!- but he refused to allow her. Isaac believed that she needed to focus on her education, not manual labor, because he believed that their world would eventually take a turn in the positive direction. And when that day came, he wanted his little sister to be among the intellectuals of the population.

Ophelia knew that Isaac meant well, but by sheltering her from the horrible world they lived in, he fed into her extreme naivete.

It was the morning of the reaping, and like every year, Ophelia was a nervous wreck. She had spent the morning pacing and trying to keep her breakfast down, not wanting to ruin the only dress she owned that fit these days – a pale yellow sundress that was once her mother's. No, her parents weren't dead. They just spent most of their days in the back bedroom, blocking out reality with the hefty drug that was so easy to come by in District Six. Whatever her mother was doing, it didn't require a dress.

"Come on, O," Isaac said from the arm chair of the small living room. He was lacing up his boots for the day, getting ready to usher her down to the town square. "This is your last year! You've never been picked before, so what are the chances?"

Ophelia stood in front of their cracked mirror, adjusting the yellow ribbon that she used to tie up her long, wavy blond hair.

"Every year, my name goes in more and more," she argued, "My chances are higher."

"Yes, but think of all the eighteen-year-olds that have taken tessera? You haven't taken any," Isaac rationalized, "That will help your chances. I promise."

"I guess you're right..." Ophelia bit her lip, staring herself down. It had been a long time since she put the effort into looking nice. It seemed like a foreign act.

She knew she was lying, and that's what was making her even more nervous than usual. With Isaac bringing in what little income their family received, Ophelia had to help. And considering he didn't allow her to take up any sort of job, she started to take tessera without him knowing. Her name was definitely going to be in that glass bowl enough times to make her chances of being drawn larger than most. It wasn't until that morning did she realize what that could mean.

As Ophelia stepped into the town square, her brother migrating to where the families were standing, she felt like another face in the crowd. That's how she felt, anyway. The Capitol didn't care who they were – They were all just potential tributes, nothing else. People were silent, even as they waited in lines to get their finger prints checked and their names taken. No one was in a rush, and why would they be? After all, they were all walking to their potential death. It was clear that District Six was not known for it's abundance in victors. That was why the only sounds that could be heard at the moment were the soft cries of the newest twelve-year-olds, and even they knew to stay as quiet as possible.

Ophelia filed into the center of the crowd, moving to stand with her age group. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her brother. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was staring at the stage with a blank expression. She knew he was panicked, but he had a talent for hiding it. He knew that if he looked panicked, she would start to panic.

The announcement, the old film from the Capitol... It was all a blur. It was hard to pay attention to something so irritatingly cheerful when one was fearing their own death. In fact, Ophelia only glanced up from her shaking hands a couple times. Each time she did, she wished she hadn't. It made everything seem more real and less like the nightmares she often had the month prior to the reaping. Her brother's hopeless rationale played over and over in her head. _It's your last year, O, what are the chances?_

Rosetta Carling was on the stage, just having given her yearly speech. This year, Ophelia noticed that her hair was an unnatural mint green color, but like always, it was worn pin straight and all the way down to her hips. Her hair was parted in the middle, and she wore a gold headband that went around her forehead with a red jewel that hung between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. Rosetta was a tall woman, only a few inches shy of being six feet tall, and was curvy in the sexiest of ways. Her body always made Ophelia feel insecure of her more petite figure.

Before Opehlia knew it, Rosetta was announcing the male tribute, a scrawny looking fourteen-year-old who looked like a deer in the headlights. His name was Steel Farmer – such a strong name for such a weak-looking boy. Rosetta wrapped an arm around him, congratulating him on the honor, but the teen was already crying so hard he could barely breath. Poor Steel, Ophelia thought, looking over to see the boy's mourning family.

Rosetta walked back to the microphone, her curvy hips swaying a little. "And now, for the girl who will receive the honor of not only serving in the 25th Hunger Games, but participating in the 1st ever Quarter Quell," Rosetta announced, her sultry voice filling the small town square.

Ophelia's eyes closed, and her hand closed around the necklace her brother gave her for her twelfth birthday - a simple gold chain with a single pearl handing from the middle. He didn't buy it, because he sure as hell could not have afforded it, but found it on the ground on his way home from work one day. He gave it to her as a good luck charm for her first Hunger Games reaping. So far, it has worked.

"Ophelia Flynn!"

Ophelia's knees buckled, and for a moment, she didn't even open her eyes. Maybe she was just dreaming. Maybe she had heard it wrong... Surely, Rosetta Carling did not just call her name.

"Ophelia Fynn!" Rosetta repeated, and her enthusiasm did not waver. "Ophelia? Come on up and receive your honor!"

Ophelia's moss-green eyes opened, and she realized the crowd had parted all around her. Her face paled, and she did not dare look back at Isaac. She knew his reaction would bring her to her knees. After all, all they had was each other in this cruel world.

Walking toward the stage, Ophelia suddenly felt naked in her old yellow sundress. Her flimsy yellow ribbon freed itself from her hair, blowing across the crowd and into oblivion. Her hair fell in her eyes like a curtain, shielding her face from the sympathetic eyes of the public.

Slowly, Ophelia made her away up the stairs of the stage, and for a split second, she glanced at her new mentor, Cal Vickory. She barely made eye contact with him before her elbow was caught by Rosetta's hand, pulling her to the middle of the stage. The crowd gave a very pitiful applause, and then she was instructed to shake hands with Steel.

Ophelia -like many new tributes on reaping day- passed out. The last thing she heard before completely blacking out was her brother calling her name; the last thing she felt was Cal Vickory's arms catching her before she fell off stage.

* * *

Ophelia's eyes slowly peeled open. She could feel a damp cloth on her forehead, and when her vision cleared, she could see a pair of hard gray eyes staring down at her.

"You know, this is a first for me," Cal murmured. His tone was a little raspy, almost as if he had a been ill, and his lips drew up into a bit of a smirk. "I've seen it happen, sure, but never like that. You know how to make an impression, don't you?"

Ophelia's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked around the room with confusion. They had not left the district yet, because she recognized the room. It was clearly one of the old offices in the town hall building. It smelled as if it had not been aired on in twenty years. Obviously, the Capitol had not found a reason for claiming the room on reaping day until now.

"You're my mentor," she grumbled, still feeling a little dizzy.

"That I am," he answered, standing up from the old couch he had laid her down on. When he stood, it was clear he was a very tall man – at least 6'3. His dark hair was styled short, but fashionable – probably something that the Capitol insisted on. She had seen the man on television for years, considering he had been the only district six victor ever, but never pictured him to be so tall. He also happened to be very tan, and she immediately wondered if it was natural or one of those skin dyes that the citizens of the Capitol favored so much.

If she remembered correctly, he was in his late twenties, and he had won the 12th Hunger Games. That meant he had probably spent his fair share of time in the Capitol.

"Where's my brother? Don't I get to see him?" Ophelia suddenly asked. She felt an surge of panic, looking out the window at the now empty town square.

"No," Cal said, looking out the same window, "You're only allowed so much time for visitors, and you slept through it all. We are leaving for the train in a few minutes." He glanced at his watch, and she noticed his expression was stoic. There was no way to tell if he was irritated at her or the people who told him that she couldn't see her brother.

Ophelia was near tears, but before she could even let out a whimper, Cal closed his eyes and held up his hand.

"No crying. It won't be the last that you will see of him," he said, his tone full of authority. It was enough to make her hold her breath in order to stop her tears. "I promise, Miss Flynn, you will see him again. And once we get on the train, I will explain."

He opened his eyes and nodded to her, bringing his finger up to his lips. Ophelia took the hint and stayed silent, even as he left the room. Her eyes followed the man as he disappeared into the hall way, her heart thudding in her chest. At the moment, she had never been more scared in her entire life. However, she would do everything she could to not cry. Something told her that there was a reason he was asking her not to do so, and if he was the person who was supposed to help her stay alive, she'd do anything he told her to do.

 _ **Author's Note: I will be posting pictures of characters in my profile – Ophelia and Cal as of tonight. Again, I'd love some feedback, especially this early on in the story. Thank you in advance!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two: The Train**_

The train moved fearlessly, heading closer toward the Capitol with every passing second. Ophelia's eyes never left the window, and she kept her knees tucked up into her chair. The smaller she made herself, the better she felt. Even on the lavishly adorned train with all of its delicate furniture and great-smelling food, she felt as if she were being threatened by some sort of force she couldn't explain.

Steel sat beside her, crying the whole way. Ophelia felt bad for him, but she was still in too much of a shocked state to be a comfort to him. They had been left alone for quite some time now. Ophelia guessed that Cal was trying to call up faithful sponsors, pleading with them to give his two pathetic tributes a chance. Cal has never had a winning tribute, but he has also never been given tributes with such a lack of physical ability. All Ophelia had on her side was her book smarts, but she had a feeling that would get her nowhere fast. Steel? The strongest thing about him was his name.

When Cal returned, he looked frustrated. He immediately walked over to a rolling cart that held several bottles of wine. He plucked the bottle that was held by a bucket of ice, poured himself a glass, and sat across from Ophelia. Now that the nausea had faded, she had the time to really notice how handsome he was… And he was very handsome with his dark hair and his piercing eyes.

"Steel has age on his side," Cal said, breaking the silence, "He's small. He's young. People love something to sympathize with. In the meantime, he can probably catch on to a few survival techniques." It took Ophelia a minute to understand why Cal was talking about Steel as if he wasn't there – Steel was in hysterics. There was no real way to communicate with him.

"You on the other hand," Cal said, tipping his glass toward her, "You've got beauty. You're one of the oldest tributes, making you something that the Capitol would… desire."

Ophelia's face paled. She knew what he meant. The people in the Capitol would see her _potential_ if she were to survive and live among them. The thought made her sick.

"Do you speak?" Cal's eyebrows raised, and Ophelia swallowed.

"Uh, yea," Ophelia croaked, "I speak."

He laughed a bit and shook his head. There was something very light about his demeanor. Too light. It was as if he had everything figured out.

"Good," he said, nodding, "You will need to use your looks and your words. Do you understand? I'm a realist. I don't believe in wasting time, teaching you how to throw a knife only to get it turned on you during the first hour of the game. I can tell by looking at you that you wouldn't be any good at that anyway."

Ophelia's eyes started blazing. Her demeanor turned from scared to defensive. "Are you trying to tell me that all I'm capable of doing is being the Capitol's potential prostitute?"

Now, it was his time to look uncomfortable. It looked as if her statement had hit home. "I have other plans," he admitted, "And they will require some acting."

"What plans?" Ophelia's face looked hopeful. She may not like what he has said so far, but no part of her wanted to die. Her chances were slim, and she needed him.

Cal leaned back in his chair, glancing over at Steel who had finally cried himself to sleep. Taking a sip of his wine, he swallowed carefully before turning back to Ophelia. "We give them a show." He shrugged. "You're the first female tribute that I've had who is eighteen… It's perfect."

"What does that matter?" Ophelia interrupted, looking irritated at his vagueness.

He leaned forward in his seat with a smirk. "Because we are going to fall in love Ophelia, and the Capitol is going to love it."

Ophelia's eyes widened, and now she understood what he meant about giving a show. However, she was an intelligent girl, and she couldn't but wonder why Cal would already be so enthusiastic about protecting her. He didn't even know her, so why did he care?

A/N: Here's a short chapter to get the story moving! Let know what you think and if you have any requests. Thanks!


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